Memories of Murder
by phylpopple
Summary: These are my thoughts on Grissom's past and how it made him the way that he is.


Memories of Murder  
  
  
This is a story of "memories too painful to remember, and too painful to forget." (Barbra Streisand; The Way We Were). Simply put, this is the story behind the man, the story that made him the way he is.  
  
  
Las Vegas, 2001  
  
Gil Grissom was in a contemplative mood that evening. It was quiet in Las   
  
Vegas, and for once there were no urgent cases pending and as he relaxed in   
  
his office, he reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a   
  
photograph. It was something that he rarely looked at, but sitting there, the   
  
oblong wooden frame hanging loosely in his hands, his thoughts turned inward,   
  
back towards a night long go.   
  
***************************************  
  
Chicago, 1981  
  
The rain felt cold on his face as he leaned out to see if the El was coming   
  
yet. It was the kind of wet sloppy rain that made one long for a warm fire and a   
  
hot drink.   
  
"And that's exactly what I hope Grace has waiting for me when I get   
  
home." Associate Biology professor Gil Grissom thought to himself as he waited   
  
on the platform for the El that would bring him home to his wife and four-month   
  
old daughter. "Melody will be in bed already, but maybe we can have some   
  
private time for us."  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevated train pulled up and jerked   
  
to a stop in front of the platform. The doors slid open and Gil wearily stepped   
  
inside and dropped onto the nearest seat. Tilting his dark blonde head back, he   
  
closed his eyes thinking. "Well, you didn't expect to start out at the top of the   
  
heap after all. A lowly Associate Professor always ends up with the grunt   
  
classes. Like the Tuesday/Thursday night freshman Biology class."  
  
Hopefully, Grace would still be waiting up for him. And with any luck, she   
  
might even be wearing that sexy lavender silk negligee that was trimmed in black   
  
lace. They'd been married for nearly three years and now had a four month old   
  
daughter but Gil still looked forward to their romantic evenings alone together.   
  
Sometimes though these evening were spread pretty far apart, especially   
  
when Grace got stuck working the night shift at the rehab clinic. Gil hated the thought of his wife working around those strung out crazies and addicts, but as she often told him, "I'm a trained nurse, Gil and I want to work where I can do the most good."  
Suddenly the train jerked to a stop and Grissom realized that this was where he got off. Their apartment building was only four blocks around the corner, and after climbing down the steps, he sloshed off down the street, battered brown briefcase swinging from his left hand.   
About two blocks from the building, he could see flashing lights and wondered briefly what was going on at this time of the night. As he got closer, he realized that a trio of police cars were parked in front of his building and he quickly broke into a run.   
Coming to the wide front steps, Gil started to climb them only to be stopped by a blue uniformed officer.  
"I'm sorry sir but you can't come inside here just now."  
"What do you mean I can't. I live here in apartment 2B."  
"Did you say 2B?" The tall dark haired female officer asked hastily. At Grissom's nod she called out over his shoulder to someone on the sidewalk. "Sergeant Wilson, the husband's here."  
Grissom turned terror filled eyes towards Sergeant Wilson, a portly man in a rumpled gray suit who had just climbed the stairs. "My God what's happened! Is it Grace or Melody? Somebody tell me what's going on!" He hollered, oblivious to the scene he was making.  
"If you'll just come with me sir." Sergeant Wilson replied calmly taking a hold of Grissom's right elbow and steering him down the flight of steps towards a waiting squad car. "I'm very sorry to be the one to have to tell you this Mr. Grissom, but it appears that someone broke into your apartment earlier this evening and…" he broke off as Gil interrupted hysterically, eyes wild.  
"Grace! Melody! Where are my wife and daughter."  
"We found your wife's body in the living room, but there is no sign of the child."  
"Some…somebody kidnapped her?" Grissom stammered feeling like a drowning man about to go down for the final time. "But who would do such a thing? She's only four months old."  
"We were rather hoping that you could tell us and of course we'll need you to positively identify your wife's body as soon as our crime scene technicians are through." Sergeant Wilson said then continued in a softer tone, "And we'll also need to know your whereabouts this evening."  
"I uh…uh class." Gil stuttered stupidly then continued in a clearer voice. "I'm an associate professor of Biology at the University of Chicago. On Tuesday and Thursday nights, I teach a section of freshman Biology. The class runs from seven o'clock to nine-fifteen."  
"Thank you Mr. Grissom. If you'd just like to wait here for a few minutes please." Sergeant Wilson told him before walking away leaving Gil slumped against the back seat of the police car.  
Gil was still stunned when the Sergeant came back over a few minutes later and gently led him over to where the ambulance was parked and asked if he could identify the woman's body lying on top of the gurney in a partially zipped green body bag.  
Looking down, he had to wipe away the tears that were crowding his eyelids before he could see clearly. "Yes. Yes, that's Grace." As the Sergeant started to lead him away again, Gil realized that she had indeed been wearing the lavender negligee that he had given her for Christmas.  
Shortly thereafter, Sergeant Wilson escorted Grissom to the Precinct and got him a cup of hot coffee before they headed into an interview room for a question and answer session. Settling his beefy frame more securely in the high-backed wooden chair across from Grissom, Wilson took a sip of his own coffee before starting.  
" First off Mr. Grissom, let me say that I have a dozen men canvassing the neighborhood even as we speak looking for your little girl."  
Gil barely looked up as he whispered softly "Thank you."  
"But, I'm going to need to ask you some questions though." Wilson continued in a sympathetic voice. "First, how long were you away from home this evening?"  
"Like I told you Sergeant," Gil said "On Tuesday and Thursday nights I teach a night class at the University. I let the class out a little after nine and then took the El home. Same as I always do."  
"Is there anyone who can vouch for the time you left the Campus?"  
"What do you mean? There are seventy-four students in that class, they can all testify that I stood in front of them for two hours tonight teaching them the finer points of a frog's reproductive system." Grissom replied beginning to get agitated as he realized where the questions were leading.  
"Mr. Grissom, calm down please." Sergeant Wilson held out a placating hand. "I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. We have to ask these questions of everybody in this situation."  
"Situation? Is that what you call it 'a situation'. My wife was just murdered and you call it a situation." He was starting to get hysterical again and Wilson exchanged glances with his partner standing against the wall near the door.  
"Tell me this sir, do you know of any enemies your wife had? Anyone that might want to hurt her? Where did she work?"  
"Grace is… was a nurse." Gil replied stumbling a little over using the past tense of the verb. "She worked at the Ellen Baker Rehab Center over on N. Halsted Street. Everybody we knew liked her. We know most of the people in our building, we moved in right after we got married three years ago."  
"We'll start by checking out the Clinic and then go on from there." Sergeant Wilson told Gil soberly. "Meanwhile, thank you for answering our questions tonight. Is there someone you can stay with? A relative or a friend perhaps?"  
"My sister Laura lives in Batavia. Oh God, how am I going to tell her. She and Grace have been friends for ten years." Grissom replied dropping his head into his hands. "Do you know that she was the one who fixed us up." He continued laughing hollowly. "It was a blind date at a seafood restaurant down on the Pier."  
"Officer Summers can show you to a telephone, Mr. Grissom. " Wilson said getting up and opening the door for them to go out into the hall.  
********************************************  
Laura Grissom Sidle immediately jumped into her car and drove into the City as soon as Gil called her. She came into the Precinct and found her older brother pacing the hallway in haphazard circles.  
"Gil?" She called out softly as she came up behind him and he stopped and turned to face her. Reaching out, she gathered him in her arms and just held him there for a few minutes before leading him over to a nearby bench where they could sit down.  
"What happened? I could barely understand you on the phone. Someone broke in to the apartment and …" She could barely force the words out, "Did you say Grace was murdered?"  
Mutely, he nodded and Laura gathered him in her arms again letting him rest his head on her shoulder.  
"What about Melody? Where is she?"  
"He took her. The son of a bitch who killed my wife also took my child." Grissom told his sister bitterly. "Sergeant Wilson said he's got men canvassing the neighborhood, but I don't know if it's going to do any good. She could be almost anywhere by now."  
He pulled away from her and sat upright as Laura reached into her coat and pulled out a crumpled Kleenex. "Here, Gil, use this."  
He nodded his thanks and rubbed it over his face and blew his nose before dropping the little piece of pink tissue in the nearby wastebasket.   
"What happens next? Do you need to stay here or can you come home with me?" Laura asked.  
"Well, I can't go back to our apartment until the Crime Scene guys are done, so I guess I can go with you."  
"Okay. Lets hunt up this Sergeant Wilson and give him my phone number so that he can call when they find Melody." His twenty-four year old sister said standing and pulling Gil to his feet also.  
"If you're sure it's not an imposition."  
"Since when is helping family an imposition. Jim had to stay home with Sara, but I know he'll say the same thing."   
After talking to Sergeant Wilson again, Gil and Laura got into her car and began the drive back through Chicago towards the suburb of Batavia. It was nearly dawn by the time Laura pulled into the driveway of the dark green ranch house with black shutters. Her brother had fallen into an exhausted doze about halfway home, and Laura hated the thought of waking him, but knew he couldn't spend the morning in the front seat of her car. She gently shook his shoulder and Gil jerked awake.  
"Easy Gil, its just me." Laura told him soothingly "we're home now and its time to go inside."  
Getting out of the car, Laura led the way up the sidewalk and quietly opened the front door and went inside. The house was dark and still, its occupants obviously sound asleep. Laura took Gil by the arm and led him towards the rear of the dwelling stopping briefly to check on her five-year-old daughter.  
Sara Marie Sidle looked angelic curled up on her side one arm tightly squeezing a brown stuffed teddy bear. Her mother tucked the blankets a little more securely around Sara's chin before tiptoeing out into the hall again.  
"She's still asleep." Laura whispered as they moved down the hall to the guestroom. "Why don't you lie down here for a while. I'll dig up some of Jim's clothes and an extra razor for you."  
The next two days passed in a sort of nightmare for Gil. More than a dozen police officers had checked out every conceivable hiding place within a ten-block radius of the Grissom apartment but to no avail, there was simply no trace of the tiny four-month old girl.   
Sergeant Wilson had also sent men to check out the rehab clinic where Grace Grissom had worked and now had a couple of guys they were trying to track down to question. One of these guys, a methadone addict named Roger Grimes, had always exhibited an extraordinary interest in Grace whenever he came in for treatments. One of Grace's co-workers had told the Sergeant that Grimes always followed Grace around the clinic with his eyes and that once, Grace had even mentioned seeing him follow her down the street.   
"This guy is really creepy." Marcy Casper finished as Sergeant Wilson took notes from his place across the table from her in the employee's lounge at the clinic. "And he definitely seemed to have a thing for Gracie. I checked our books, and he always scheduled his appointments during her shift, never on her days off."  
"Thank you, Ms. Casper." Sergeant Wilson said closing his little black notebook and sticking it into his jacket pocket. "You've given us some good information to start with and we'll be back if we need anything else."  
"I just hope you guys get the SOB that killed her. Everybody liked Gracie, she was a true angel of mercy if you know what I mean." Marcy replied standing up also and shaking the Sergeant's beefy hand.  
"Well, we'll certainly do our best." Wilson said as he followed the heavy-set nurse out the door into the hallway.  
It took several days to find Roger Grimes. He had been hiding out in an old apartment building about six blocks from Lake Michigan and not so much as poking a whisker outside. It was late one afternoon a little over two weeks since the gruesome murder of Grace Grissom and the disappearance of baby Melody when a pair of Detectives pounded on the door of the run down fifth floor walkup where Grimes was holed up.   
"Police, open up Grimes!" The lead detective whose name was Adams shouted as he pounded on the door with his fist. "We know you're in there, so open up!"   
The door opened a crack and a skinny face partially covered by a scraggly graying beard peered out. The man's glassy eyed stare told the officers immediately that he was high on something as he said in a quivering voice, "I'm Roger Grimes. What can I do for you officers?"  
"You can come with us, Grimes. You're wanted for questioning in the murder of Grace Grissom and the kidnapping of four-month old Melody Grissom."  
Roger Grimes was quickly dispatched to the Precinct downtown, and placed in an interview room to await questioning by Sergeant Wilson and another officer.   
"Your name is Roger Grimes, is it not?" Sergeant Wilson began the interrogation session by asking.   
"That's right." Grimes responded his drug induced high slowly wearing off now after spending the last few hours in the Precinct.   
"Okay Mr. Grimes, you are currently an out-patient at he Ellen Baker rehab clinic over on N. Halsted St., is that also correct."  
"That's right officer. I've been trying mightily to kick this unfortunate habit I seemed to have fallen into."   
"And I can see you've been very successful." Wilson quipped deadpan as he eyed the disheveled man sitting across from him. "Now, when you stopped by the clinic for your treatments, did you ever work with a nurse there by the name of Grace Grissom?"  
"Could be." Grimes drawled lazily then continued, "Yes, I think I do remember that name. She was a right pretty woman as I recall. I like my women tall and blonde too."  
"Then why did you follow her home, break into her apartment and kill her last month? And where have you stashed Melody Grissom?" Sergeant Wilson asked standing up and leaning his bulk across the table to stare Grimes straight in the face. "And don't try to duck out of it, we found a witness who remembers you loitering around the front of the apartment building a little after eight that night. She ID'd you to a tee, right down to your scraggily beard and dirty sneakers."  
"I won't deny it, I was there. But I wasn't following anybody. I was just there." Grimes replied crossing his arms across his skinny chest in its faded blue flannel shirt.  
Wilson questioned Roger Grimes for another hour but couldn't get anything more out of him and finally ordered him removed back to the holding cell. Conferring with his Captain and others in the squad room, he said "I didn't get anywhere with that junkie. He admits to being in the neighborhood, but not to following Mrs. Grissom or breaking into the apartment." He slammed his fist down on the desk so hard that a cracked coffee mug filled with pens teetered and nearly fell over. "Damn it! We can only hold the bum for another twenty-four hours before we either have to charge him or let him walk. I know he did it, it's just a matter of proving it."  
"Well," Captain Mitchell said stroking his chin as he usually did when he was thinking out loud. "We just have to find some kind if evidence that he made it into the apartment. Have the criminalistics guys come up with anything yet? A fingerprint, or stray hair from that beard of his. Anything to place him in the apartment?"  
"We're still waiting on their reports, but I'll give them another call this afternoon." Wilson said.  
"No, don't call them. Go over and see them personally. Sometimes that gets faster results." Mitchell told the Sergeant firmly as he turned to head back into his office.  
Wilson did head over to the Criminalistics department shortly thereafter and found Nina Stevens, the head of the department, in her office studying some photos.  
"Hey, Red," he called out as he came through the door. "How's things?"  
Nina looked up in exasperation and gave Wilson a mock growl. "I'm fine thanks but how many times have I told you not to call me Red."  
"Sorry, Nina. But who can resist with hair like that." He replied settling into a chair across the desk from her. Nina Stevens' hair was a thick mane of coppery colored strands that flowed down past her shoulders in shimmering waves. Everyone called her Red, and she didn't really mind, much.  
"What can I do for you, Wilson?" She asked setting the sheaf of photographs aside with the magnifying glass on top.  
"I need to know what you've found in the Grissom murder. We've got a suspect back at the Precinct, but without any evidence that he was in the apartment, we have to let him go in the morning."  
"Well, lets see what we got then." The thirty-eight year old department head replied as she stood and headed for the door, beckoning for Wilson to follow. "I've put Mickey on the fingerprints," she explained as they headed down the hall towards the labs. "Unfortunately, most of them belonged to the Grissom's, but there were several unknowns."  
"Mickey!" Nina called out as they entered a long room with several computers scattered around a large table. "Come on, Mouse, where are you. We got company."  
A tall skinny man of about twenty-five or so strolled out of the back room munching on a sandwich. "Geez, can't a guy even finish his lunch in peace. What do you need?"  
"This is Sergeant Wilson from Homicide. He's working the Grissom murder/kidnapping and needs the ID on those unknown fingerprints we collected from the scene."  
"Chill Boss, I got them running through the system right now." The technician replied as he swallowed the last of his sandwich. "Let me check and see what we got." He sat down at one of the computers and began pushing a series of keys. "Bingo! We got a match on all five prints. And the lucky winner is … Drum roll please. A Mr. Roger Grimes, shoplifter extraordinaire and all around crack head."  
"Where were these prints found?" Wilson asked a smile of delight beginning to come over his round features.   
"Two were from the butcher knife that was dropped in the hallway. The murder weapon I believe? And the others were on the bars of the crib in the baby's room."  
"Yes!!!" Wilson shouted enthusiastically pumping his right arm up and down in his excitement. "We've got him. We've got him on both charges." He started to run out of the room, then turned and said more quietly "Thanks guys."   
By the time Sergeant Wilson returned to the Precinct, Captain Mitchell had already placed Roger Grimes under arrest for murder and kidnapping. Once confronted with the evidence placing him inside the second floor apartment, Grimes finally broke down and admitted that he had indeed broken in and killed Grace Grissom and taken the baby. He then told Sergeant Wilson where to find the tiny four-month old girls body.   
"She's wrapped in a blanket down in the basement storage room of my apartment." As the detectives looked at him in horror, he continued, "she wouldn't stop screaming, I was afraid she'd give me away. So I wrapped the blanket around her head until she shut up." Grimes concluded simply holding out his hands palm side up and looking at the trio of police officers surrounding him. "What else was I supposed to do."   
Roger Grimes was tried and convicted of two counts of first degree murder and one count of kidnapping and sentenced to twenty-five years to life in Joliet prison.   
Faced with overwhelmingly painful memories of his life in Chicago, Gilbert Allan Grissom packed up his clothes and headed west. Finally landing in the bright lights and hot desert of Las Vegas, Nevada, he contacted his sister and told her to sell or give away everything in the apartment because he didn't think he could stand to look at any of the items that he and Grace had so lovingly chosen for their home.  
He also abandoned his college teaching career and embarked on a totally new profession. Becoming a crime scene investigator with the Las Vegas Police Department, he eventually worked his way up to nightshift supervisor.  
Grissom rarely went back to Chicago, preferring to keep in touch with his sister and her family by telephone, mail or by them visiting him. He didn't spend much time with his only niece until she turned up in one of his Criminalistics Seminars in San Francisco in the fall of 1999.  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
Las Vegas, 2001  
  
"Grissom?" The sound of Catherine's voice in the doorway startled Gil out of his thoughts and his hands jerked sharply. The picture fell to the floor with a crash. Catherine hurried forward to help him pick up the pieces.  
"What's this?" She asked curiously holding up the photograph in its shattered frame. "I don't think I've ever seen this picture before."  
"You haven't." Gil answered shortly as he carefully swept up the last slivers of glass from the floor. "I keep it in my bottom drawer."  
"But who are they?" Catherine asked again, her curiosity about this hidden segment of Grissom's life overcoming her usual respect for his privacy.  
"It's my wife Grace and our daughter Melody. It was taken the day we brought her home from the hospital."  
Catherine's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Your what!" She finally managed to say, "I didn't know you were ever married. Where are they now?"   
"They were both murdered. Twenty years ago today as a matter of fact." Grissom replied quietly looking down at the photograph which Catherine still held. "Sit down, Cath, and I'll tell you about it."  
Handing him back the photo, Catherine Willows nodded and sat down in the chair across from her supervisor and close friend.  
"It all started one damp rainy night in Chicago…" he began.  
  
The End 


End file.
